


Nothing Says New Year's like Drowning and Sobriety.

by nervouswrites



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multi, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Romance, Sobriety, extremely convenient sobriety on Pete's part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervouswrites/pseuds/nervouswrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being straight edge is a very serious commitment, and Andy knew what he was signing on for. It's one that makes New Year's a comically strange occasion, but, if nothing else, there's the hilarity of seeing his bandmates get off-their-ass wasted once a year. As it so happens, New Year's is, uncharacteristically for a man who usually tries to ooze confidence, the one time where Pete finally decides to grow a pair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Says New Year's like Drowning and Sobriety.

It went without saying that there was never more than three-fourths of Fall Out Boy drinking on New Year's, but that was usually the exact number that was some degree of intoxicated. Since they'd entered their thirties, there was an endless degree of jokes flying around about Andy having kids in Pete, Patrick and Joe; while this was usually true to an extent, it was especially so on this day. It was nothing if not funny to watch, ensuring he was never bored. Joe was definitely the most creative drunk out of the other three, Pete at a close second and Patrick coming in last. Such shenanigans were usually held at Joe's place, as he possessed a wraparound couch that was perfect for not-entirely-sober collapsing on. That, and dogs were always a plus.

In fact, Ziggy was flopped out on Andy's leg, his other tucked under himself, chin in his hands as he observed his bandmates. Patrick and Joe were shoulder to shoulder on the floor in front of the television, having mostly decimated the couch for the sake of pillow nests upon which to watch the pre-fireworks. Joe's dogs were spread out across the room, occasionally coming to sniff at one of the men's shoulders. Pete had stepped out to get snacks, which would presumably consist of both regular and vegetable chips. It was a little surprising that he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol yet, but Joe and Patrick had taken to passing a bottle of white wine between the two of them. It was amusingly peaceful, even when their lips connected over the opening of the bottle. Andy had done the gentlemanly thing and glanced away for that one, but it seemed he had little to worry about, as Joe had fallen back onto the pillows with a laugh seconds later. It was unlikely that either he or Patrick would make a big thing of it in the morning. It happened more frequently than not.

As Andy had entered a reverie of pensive staring at the Times Square festivities, Pete tripped into the room, bags of assorted junk food tucked to his chest. He tossed two bags of Ruffles in Patrick and Joe's general directions, stealing a bag of Fritos for himself and tossing Andy a healthier option. The man flopped onto the couch beside Andy, pressing the Fritos melodramatically to his forehead as he did so. With an intrigued smirk, Andy raised his eyebrows at him. 

"Tough day? I'm pretty sure there's another bottle in the fridge. Claim it early and it's all yours." His tone was light and unconcerned. He didn't miss drinking, had done his share of it before converting and decided there was hardly enough of an appeal to keep him hooked. It was fine by him, and the joking title of caretaker placed upon him certainly had its accuracies. Pete shook his head, shoving his hair out of his eyes and cracking open the bag of Fritos. 

"Nah. I'm good. Breaking with tradition, I know- don't look at me like that, it's not  _that_ shocking, but nah. I'll stay sober, thanks." Lowering his voice to a level that was still not subtle in the least, he jerked a thumb at Patrick and Joe. "They start making out yet? That's the usual." The drummer stifled a snort with difficulty.

"Drunk, not deaf." Patrick reminded, his voice still relatively stable. Possessing none of Andy's quiet tact, Pete scoffed and piped up through a mouthful of Fritos.

"Okay, yeah, but what's your hearing situation gotta do with you locking lips with Troh-Fro? Nothing. Talk to me when you've got some crippling mouth disease." Joe, unperturbed, flashed Pete a smile and a middle finger.

"Chip-face isn't working for you."

"Mmm." As if to prove a point, the man crunched his chips louder. Patrick rolled his eyes, turning back to the spectacle onscreen. There were only ten minutes to midnight, setting a relative record for general balanced sobriety percentage and hype level since 2009. The erratic, eccentrically colored lights surrounding the ball drop advertisement were offputting, and Andy focused in on petting Ziggy instead. It was less about the holiday itself when they got together and more for sentimental purposes. (That was not to say things didn't have the propensity to get sentimental. This was usually Joe's schtick after a little too much to drink.) Andy passed a glance over at Pete, quietly curious, but decided not to say anything. It was hardly the most polite thing to ask about, even if it was breaking with the emo king's usual tradition. Regardless, Pete caught the glance and rolled over on his stomach, directing heavy-lidded eyes up at him. "Bet you're wondering why I'm not getting hammered."

"Sure." he agreed amicably, voice pitching up higher than usual in interest. It was a noncommittal answer, but one that would encourage Pete to speak. As he'd anticipated, it sparked interest. Pete scooted up to the side that was not occupied by Ziggy, turning a solemn expression on him that Andy couldn't decipher if it was mock or not. Those eyes definitely got his attention, though. Fucking hypnotizing is what they were. With or without the little strip of eyeliner that used to be such a common staple, they drew you in. Sometimes, he was drowning. Other times, it was a tolerable state of eternally treading water.

"I'm glad you asked." Pete went on, throwing his arm around Andy's shoulder like this was typical fare. Looking on, Joe raised an eyebrow curiously before he was prodded by the bottle of wine. Easily swayed, the guitarist threw it back, taking a leisurely swig. Andy continued to give Pete a slightly confused smile, waiting for whatever grand revelation was about to be thrust on him. "Well, you're sober, mm?"

"So I've noticed, yeah. What about it?" He'd broken the rules once, had a couple of drinks with them back in 2011. A hiatus hadn't meant that they'd ever stopped being friends. He couldn't remember much, but apparently the experience had been rewarding enough to encourage Joe and Pete to try and persuade him to make it an annual thing. He'd considered it a couple of times. Redirecting his focus to Pete, he drifted out of his memories and back to his bandmate's open face. Pete touched a finger to his chest, tapping it matter-of-factly a couple of times.

"So, I have an idea. Which'd make me a dick if I did it drunk." That raised some suspicion. Pete usually threw caution to the wind when it came to...well, anything. Half-jokingly, Andy raised his hands in front of his chest, shielding himself with a sign of defeat. Mischief flashed in the bassist's eyes as he watched this. "Don't look so scared. It's legal, I swear." 

"With you, that's not really what I'm concerned about." This got him a laugh. Pete dropped his head to Andy's hip and left it there, gazing at the television. The gesture allowed the remainder of the tension to drain from Andy's frame and he dropped his hands, lightly scratching through Pete's hair with his right hand. Prankster or not, Pete was a trip, and one he enjoyed at that. Besides, if that was the worst adjective he could toss out about the guy, he considered both himself and the rest of the band rather well off. "You gonna let me in on your idea?" 

"Eventually. Not right now, though. Give it a while." Pete kept his eyes on the screen. Andy let out a frustrated noise through his teeth and continued to stroke through Pete's hair, sighing softly. Even in a state of ignorance, he was content.

"I'm a terrible sidekick if you don't let me in on your plans." 

"Like I said, soon." Pete swore, glancing up and briefly raising his head. The few inches that separated them were a subject of contention and fascination to the younger man. There were worse things to be concerned about. His gaze briefly moved farther down than he wanted it to, resting on Pete's lips for longer than it should have. When he made eye contact again, Pete was grinning. For what reason, he had no idea. "Don't take the fun out of it, man. You like surprises." He wasn't wrong, and Andy nodded before relenting with a little grin. 

"Okay, okay, sheesh." Unexpectedly, Patrick turned and shushed them, excitement lighting up in his eyes. The vocalist jerked his thumb at the screen, finger still on his lips. Everyone fell silent. Seconds later, they simultaneously realized what he was indicating; under the background noise and chattering of the overly peppy reporter, their song was playing. Joe, right on cue, burst into an only intoxicated rendition of the first verse of Centuries. Pete cackled and fell back against Andy's shoulder, clapping and nodding enthusiastically. Patrick raised a fist and punched it into the air, grinning like a delighted child. The sentimental look on his face was hardly surprising. This might turn out to be another night where flattered ranting about their success was a staple. It was kind of endearing to see Patrick get so worked up. To prove such, he was still grinning, and Joe shoved his shoulder playfully.

"Fuckin'...we kick ass. That's cathartic, hearing us. We sound awesome." He highfived Pete, who'd leaned forward a little to make such a thing possible. Andy's eyes were still on the screen, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.

"Are they...playing us with the festivities and stuff? Like, behind the square?" 

"Well, yeah. What'd you think? Good thing we're not there, I'd-"

"Remember when you saw that girl in the restaurant with a FOB shirt on and just stared at her until she noticed you on the other side of the glass, Pete?" 

"-yeah, yeah, you've got a point." he grumbled good-naturedly. "I'm just saying, it's cool to get hyped, right? You all- we get hyped out of our collective ass, or is it just me and Patrick?" Andy shook his head, as did Joe.

"Nah. We're...hyped out of our ass too- are you  _sure_ you're not at least a little tipsy? That's a great metaphor." the drummer teased. Pete pushed on his chest, sending the drummer back against the couch cushions with an  _oof_ and his normal high-pitched giggle. 

"Cross my heart and hope to cry. What- Hey, is that the minute countdown?" His eyes flashed back to the screen, where pink numbers and chanting were accompanying the slow descent to midnight. Patrick nodded, snagging the bottle from Joe and taking a sip, now actually turning his attention to the so-far-unused glasses sitting in front of them. With a nod to his companion, he started to pour himself and Joe enough for a toast. 

"Pete, are you sure you don't want any?" Firmly, the bassist shook his head, gaze still absolutely locked on the countdown screen. Shrugging, Patrick turned back to hand Joe his glass, which the latter accepted with a wry smirk and a sloppy bow from the chest. Pete surveyed them as the countdown ticked down from forty seconds. 

"I love you guys. I really do." With that, he turned to Andy, clasping Andy's hands to his own chest and looking up at him with a spark in his eyes. Pete leaned in to mutter into his ear. "Hey. Wanna kiss me?"

 _"What?"_ Andy remained where he was, but Pete drew back, noticing the man's wide eyes once he'd done so. The TV now read less than half a minute.

"You know. For New Year's? Because I really want you to, and I think you really want you to kiss me too." It was a cocky statement, but a bit of insecurity shone through anyway. Andy blinked, and the thing most off-base to what he was thinking escaped his lips.

"You're serious?" Exasperated, Pete rolled his eyes, starting to scoot back a little bit. Andy caught his palms and held them, effectively stilling him. 

"Yes, I'm serious. C'mon, Andy, don't make me look like a dick on New Year's."  A frown was beginning to dawn on his face. Andy made a snap decision.

"No, I'm not gonna. I'll kiss you." Faintly, he was aware of the countdown from ten, chiming louder than the previous numbers. He didn't take his eyes off Pete's face. This seemed to come as a bit of a shock to the other.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Gladly." And, with that, he grabbed Pete around the wrist and yanked him up to his chest, kissing him intently as the clock wound down from three. He didn't look up even when the midnight alarm sounded, just shifting when Pete wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed back fiercely. It felt like fire, which was ironic, given the drowning Andy had a propensity for. That was okay. Patrick and Joe clinked their glasses together in a toast and drank from opposite respective glasses, wedding-style. 

"Hey, guys, Happy-" Joe broke off into a wolf whistle instead, putting two fingers in his mouth and turning up the volume. Patrick glanced back too, eyes briefly widening and then turning to Joe, shrugging in a devil-may-care, fond fashion. Joe shrugged in return, pausing for maybe a second and leaning in to kiss their vocalist gently on the lips. 

Happy New Year, indeed.


End file.
